


One Last Night

by wanheda_two_heda



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Emotional Hurt, Exes, F/M, Heartbreak, Mild Smut, Post-Break Up, i almost cried writing this, literally just angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-21 14:35:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13743015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanheda_two_heda/pseuds/wanheda_two_heda
Summary: Clarke broke up with Bellamy, she knows that it's over. But she needs to see him just one more time. Just to see if he's okay, even if seeing him is painful. She still needs him, and he still needs her, so one last night can't hurt. Right?





	One Last Night

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I don't know what it is. I'm in a mood, and this fic reflects it. Sorry for the feels.

“Please tell me that we’re not just here because you know that Bellamy is going to show up at some point?” Raven asks before taking a sip from her beer.

Clarke leans her back against the bar and scans the crowd. The dance floor is still mostly empty, the lights not quite dim enough yet.  _ He’s not here _ , she thinks sadly. When she turns to look at Raven, the Latina is looking at her expectantly, an eyebrow raise in question.

“We’re not just here because I know that Bellamy is going to show up at some point,” Clarke says, monotonous. 

Raven rolls her eyes. “Why are you doing this Clarke?” she asks quietly.

“I just… I need to see him again, Rae.”

“You broke up with him.”

“I know,” Clarke says, willing the tears away. “I know, and you know why I had to. But I need to see him one last time.”

Raven rubs her friend’s shoulder in a show of support. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“I guess we’ll find out sooner or later, right?”

* * *

 

Around eleven-thirty, they’re joined by Luna and Gina who insist on shots. Clarke happily knocks back the tequila without salt or lime. The burn in her throat feels justified. When Monroe and Harper come in just after midnight, they insist on dragging the group out onto the dance floor. Clarke can’t focus on the group of girls dancing with her, doesn’t even really pay attention to the songs that are playing. She just keeps scanning the crowd, hoping against hope that she’ll see him across the bar. Her heart races with fear at the possibility.

Raven takes Clarke’s hands and spins her around, laughing throughout as the alcohol starts to get to her head. Clarke tries to get into it, to distract herself, and for a moment, she does. She dances and sings along with her friends, lets her hair down and shakes her hips, but the moment the song is over, she’s back to scanning the crowd.

“I need another drink!” Luna announces. 

The girls each nod, and the rather large group sets off towards the bar. They crowd against the rail as best as they can, but Clarke ends up somewhere near the back. 

She reaches forward to tap on Harper’s shoulder. “Hey, can you just grab me a glass of water?” she asks, nearly having to shout to be heard over the music pumping out of the speakers. Harper nods.

Clarke slides back to the tail end of the group where she stands with Monroe. “You getting anything?” Monroe asks.

Clarke is just about to shake her head no when she scans the crowd again, and her eyes land on a familiar mess of black curls walking in with Murphy and Miller.

“Yeah!” she shouts in answer, pushing her way to the front of the crowd. “Two tequila shots!” she shouts to the bartender when he nods in her direction. 

When he comes back and places the shots in front of her, she throws him a wadded up twenty and downs the shots in quick succession, not leaving herself time to think. Harper looks at her with an impressed smile.

“Damn, Griffin, look at you go,” she says, nowhere near being able to feel the anxiety coursing through Clarke’s veins.

He’s there when she turns around, and Clarke feels her heart sink down into her toes. He looks sad, withdrawn, and her heart breaks all over again. He looks up and meets her eyes, and she’s surprised to not find a hint of anger or hatred. Instead, she sees loss written clearly across all of his features. She wants to go to him, to comfort him, but she can’t. She’s rooted in place with the knowledge that she did this to him. 

“Come on, Clarke,” Raven says quietly as though she knows exactly what’s going through her friend’s mind.

Clarke lowers her eyes and walks past Bellamy without so much as a word or nod hello.

* * *

 

No matter where she is, she can’t stop finding him in the crowd. The bar is packed, hundreds of people milling around and dancing, but all she has to do is cast a quick look about the darkened space, and there he is, already looking at her. Every instance of eye contact makes her breath die in her throat in a way that’s almost painful.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom real quick,” she shouts to Raven so the other girl can hear her.

Raven nods. “Want me to go with you?”

“I’ll be fine,” Clarke reassures her.

She takes the long way off the dance floor to the bathrooms in the hopes of skirting Bellamy, and she does. It doesn’t help her mood any. If she’s being honest, she was hoping that she’d bump into him, just so that she could have an excuse to say something, anything, even just a “sorry, I didn’t see you there.” 

She locks herself inside a cubicle and lets a sob claw its way out of her throat, hoping that once she’s let it out, she’ll feel better. Clarke blows her nose on a piece of toilet paper, dries her eyes, and wipes away the mascara smudges before they can run down her cheeks. She checks herself over in the mirror once more before heading back out to find her friends. 

Bellamy is perched on the edge of the dance floor, and she watches as he waves off his friends who head to the bar. She takes a deep, shaking breath, and walks in his direction, hoping to just brush past him, hoping that he’ll stop her, hoping he won’t.

He catches her wrist as she passes, and Clarke stops. He won’t meet her eyes when she turns to look at him.

“Clarke,” he says, and it’s barely a whisper, but she can hear it as though he was yelling her name.

“Bellamy,” she says on an exhale, unable to stop herself.

He pulls her forward, and she folds herself against him, one arm wrapping around his shoulder, her fingers finding the curls she fell in love with. Her other hand finds the side of his neck, and she swears she can feel his pulse hammering against her palm. She hides her face against the crook of his neck, a spot that felt like it had been carved out just for her. He wraps his arms around her waist and holds her tight, afraid that she might disappear.

“Bellamy,” she says again.

He smells just like she remembers, the sharp odor of his cologne mixed with a scent that is simply, inherently, Bellamy. They fit together just like she remembers, too, and she has to force herself to think about anything else. They’re not together anymore. She broke up with him. She broke his heart.

“Clarke,” he says again, strangled. His mouth is near her ear, and she can almost feel his lips as he breathes her name over and over again.

“I’m so sorry,” she says into his shoulder.

She pulls back to look at him, lets her hands slowly slide away. She feels cold now that they’re apart, already missing the warmth and comfort of  _ him _ . He lets his hand come up to her face, brushes a stray curl back behind her ear. 

“I miss you,” he tells her.

Her shoulders sag. “I do, too,” she admits.

“This doesn’t have to be… We don’t… I still…” He struggles to find his words.

“I’m sorry, Bellamy,” she says, turning to walk away, unable to bear the pain of being so close to him again. This was a bad idea.

He catches her wrist again. “Clarke. Wait. Let’s get out of here.”

The offer is tempting. So, so tempting. She wants to say yes. Her entire body is screaming at her to say yes, but she knows that she can’t. 

“Please?” he asks, and he sounds so broken that she knows she has to say no. She can’t break his heart all over again, can’t break her own heart all over again.

Against her better judgment, she lets him pull her back against him, her hands finding his shoulders. He puts his hands on her hips and draws her into a dance, his hips swaying in time with the beat, and before she knows it, he’s leaning down, and her arms are around his neck, and he’s kissing her desperately. She powerless to stop him. Her body takes over, and she kisses him back. They’ve stopped dancing, and his arms are wrapped around her torso, holding her so tightly against him that she fears she might break. 

“Fuck,” he says between gasps when he pulls away. “Fuck, Clarke, don’t tell me that felt like nothing. Don’t tell me that you don’t still love me.” 

She finds his hand and pulls him towards the door.

* * *

 

It’s a short walk back to Bellamy’s apartment, one that Clarke knows by heart. They don’t talk, just walk at a pace that can’t be described as leisurely, both too eager to get to where they’re going. 

Bellamy kisses her before the door is even shut behind them. His hands are gentle on the sides of her face, his lips soft on hers. He kisses her slowly, savoring every moment. Clarke tangles her hands in his hair and holds him against her. He licks along the seam of her mouth, and she sighs, opening her mouth to him in a way that’s all too familiar. 

Her phone rings loudly, startling them apart. Clarke silences it without even looking at the screen. 

“Bellamy,” she sighs, trailing her hands up his chest.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” he promises. 

She nods, and toes off her shoes, walking further into the apartment that once felt like home. Bellamy goes into the kitchen and pulls two glasses and a bottle of whiskey out of a cupboard. He pours them each a glass. 

“I’ve missed you, Clarke,” he admits, taking a drink.

She lifts herself up onto the counter and pulls him forward to stand between her legs. Clarke hides her face against his shoulder, her arms loose around his neck.

“I had to, Bell,” she says quietly.

“I know, Princess. I’m sorry about how it all went down.” He kisses her hair.

“It’s my fault,” she says, her voice strained as she fights back tears.

“I’m the one who let you go,” he says softly. 

She looks up and meets his eyes, brown and begging her to understand that he wants to shoulder some of the blame for how things ended. “Just one last night.”

“One last night,” he says, capturing her mouth again.

Clarke slides her tongue against his lips, tastes the bite of the whiskey still on him. He kisses her sweetly, pouring all the love of their expired relationship into it. He kisses her jaw, and down her neck. He slides his hands up her thighs as she ducks hers under his shirt to feel the hard planes of his stomach. He kisses her forehead, her eyelids, kisses away tears she didn’t even know she’d let slip out. 

She loves him, doubts she’ll ever be able to stop loving him. 

“Bedroom?” he asks, and she feels his breath wash over her face. 

She can only nod as he takes her hand and pulls her off the counter and down the hall. In his room, Bellamy slides her shirt over her head, runs his hands over the expanse of skin he’s just revealed. She shivers when his fingers near the divots in her hips, a spot he’s always known to be ticklish. She reciprocates, pushing his shirt up until he helps her shrug it off. 

Her breath stops when he kneels in front of her, kissing his way down her stomach. Clarke slides her hands into his dark hair, pushes it back from his face. 

“So beautiful,” he whispers against her skin. 

He pops open the snap of her jeans and slowly pushes them down her legs kissing along each thigh, knee, calf, as he helps her step out of them. Clarke’s head swims as she takes in the sight before her: Bellamy on his knees, his hands gripping her thighs and looking up at her reverently. She reaches for his hands and pulls him to his feet, wrapping her arms around him and kissing him slowly until she can’t think about anything else. His hands trace patterns up and down her back, and she runs her hands over every inch of him, desperate to memorize the last time she gets to see him like this.

“Clarke,” he sighs when she reaches for the button on his pants.

“I won’t say that I’m wrong, Bell. I can’t. But every second I’ve spent apart from you has torn me apart. My heart literally fucking aches at the thought of not being with you. Of course I still love you. I’ve always loved you. I’ll always love you.”

“Then don’t--”

She cuts him off with a quick kiss. “It doesn’t have to mean anything, remember?”

He pushes her back onto the bed and crowds over her. “What if it does?”

“It can’t.”

“Clarke, please,” he begs, and it sounds so broken. 

She pulls him down to her, but he won’t kiss her mouth. Instead, he noses at her jaw until she tips her head back and gives him more access. He presses hot, open-mouthed kisses down the column of her throat and along her collarbone. He has her squirming beneath him, begging for more, before he even puts his hands on her.

“Bellamy,” she whines.

“I’ve got you, Princess,” he whispers into her hair, his hand sliding beneath the lace waistband of her panties. 

He explores her so slowly that it’s nearly maddening in how good it feels. He circles her entrance, thumbs her clit, and slides his fingers up and down her core that was once so familiar to him. She turns her head to look at him while he fingers her, and laces her fingers through those of his spare hand. Bellamy looks at her with adoration, and she has to bite her lip to keep from keening. 

“It’s always been you, you know,” he tells her.

“For me, too, Bell,” she promises him.

“Then why does it have to be over?” he asks as he slides two fingers into her. 

She screws her eyes shut and throws her head back, her mouth open in pure bliss. “You’ll understand one day.”

“Not good enough,” he tells her, freeing his hand from her grasp to turn her eyes back to his. 

“Bellamy, please,” she begs, though she doesn’t know which release she’s begging for. 

He kisses her through her orgasm, lets her ride out the aftershocks on his fingers as her hands fist into the bedsheets. 

“I need you,” she says against his mouth once she’s finally caught her breath. 

He slides down her body, licks up the beads of sweat pooled between her breasts, and presses light kisses down to her hips. Bellamy hooks his fingers into the flimsy material of her panties and slides them down her legs, discarding them somewhere on the floor before coming back up to press a feather-light kiss to her clit. It sends shivers down her spine. 

She looks up at him as he shucks off his jeans and briefs, takes him in with awe as he stands at full attention in front of her. He pulls out a condom and slides it on with practiced ease.

“Come here,” she coaxes, inviting him down to her, and spreading her legs so that he can find his home within the cradle of her hips.

He makes love to her in a way that is so slow and effortless that it brings tears to her eyes. It’s all love and tenderness and her heart aches at the loss of it before either even finishes. 

“Come back to me, Clarke,” he begs as he slides in and out of her.

“I can’t, Bell. I can’t. I have to do this.” He swipes away the tears, kisses her softly. “I have to bear it, so that you don’t.”

“We can do it together, Clarke. Whatever it is, you’re not alone. Let me help you.”

“You can’t,” she cries.

He pets her hair, brushes it out of her face. Clarke traces his features with his fingers, takes in the familiar dusting of dark freckles that mark his face like constellations as he continues the steady rocking of his hips.

“Come for me, babe,” he whispers into her ear. “One last time.”

She does, her walls tightening around him as his movements become sloppier and faster. He comes with heavy breaths against the side of her neck and a grunt of her name. He doesn’t pull out right away, and instead lets himself rest his head on her chest as they both catch their breaths. Clarke brushes his sweaty curls away from his forehead and cards her fingers through his hair.

He eventually does slide off of her to tie off the condom and toss it into the trash next to his desk. He comes back to bed and pulls her against his chest, his strong arms hugging her tightly against him. Bellamy kisses her shoulder, and for a moment, she lets her eyes close, lets herself imagine that she could stay the night wrapped up in the man she loves. His fingers trace absent-minded patterns up and down her arms.

“I have to go, Bell,” she whispers.

“It won’t make a difference if I ask you to stay, will it?” 

She feels the familiar sting of fresh tears and for once doesn’t fight to hold them back. Clarke lets herself cry in earnest as she shakes her head no. “I’m sorry, Bellamy,” she says as she turns to face him.

He presses her back into the pillow and kisses her fiercely. “You know I love you,” he tells her, brushing his fingers through her hair. “I don’t know what you’re going through right now, Clarke, but I trust you. I trust you to know what’s best, and I trust you to come back if you need to. I love you, Princess.”

She throws her arms around him and hugs him tightly as she cries. “I love you so much, Bellamy Blake.”

* * *

 

Bellamy doesn’t say a word when she finally extricates herself from his grasp. He watches silently as she wipes away her tears and gets dressed. His heart breaks all over again knowing that she’s going to leave him for a second time and that, no matter what, he can’t stop her. He can’t stop her because he knows that this is what she wants, and he loves her enough to let her have it. He does, however, pull her back in for one last kiss before she goes, committing the salty taste of her tears to memory.

Once she’s gone, Bellamy makes himself get out of bed and put away the ring that had been sitting on his desk since the day before Clarke ended their relationship. She’d never seen it. He goes back to bed, turns off the light, and spends the night lying awake, too focused on the empty half of the bed to sleep.


End file.
